


I Believe You

by AkisMusicBox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Byleth Shares Her Burdens, Divine Pulse Angst (Fire Emblem), Divine Pulse Deaths (Fire Emblem), Don't copy to another site, F/M, Temporary Character Death, These are a few of my favorite sad tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: "Teach, I'm sorry," he croaked. "I know I've been prying about your past and about the Sword of the Creator. This isn't like that. I want to help.""I'm sorry," she whispered to herself. Or perhaps to someone else, but it wasn't for him. "I can't go on like this."She leaned back in her chair and removed her hand. Her expression was that of a woman haunted, dreading spreading the curse "We did," she said. "Two different battles. Lysithea died."Claude's ready to celebrate after a decisive victory on the battlefield. Byleth is trying to cope with her mistakes. Another self-indulgent work, now with extra SAD!
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 40
Kudos: 221





	1. Time To Peek

Claude hoped his walk to the library had done enough to help his digestion. Lysithea had insisted that he eat her dessert that evening -- a token of her appreciation for his actions during the battle early that day. It would have been more appreciated if he was _aware_ that the offer was coming -- he had already stuffed himself with pheasant and enough ale to ease the soreness in his muscles. Seteth wasn't keen on giving students drink, but even he seemed to acknowledge it's necessity for morale after a fight. Claude had wanted to pawn the cake off on Teach, but she was nowhere to be found in the dining hall. Seteth pretended to know with a "Likely in her room, writing her report of what transpired. Dinner will be delivered to her, so don't trouble yourself with the thought." His eyebrow had arced pointedly on the word "trouble".

"Very well, let me know if you need a hand!" Claude said with a quick wave and made his way to Raphael and Leonie, who were already deep enough in their cups to annoy Seteth. _I think he mistakes the definition of "trouble". I'll refresh his memory, though._

The cake had ensured his body skipped over "tipsy" and jumped to "sleepy", but his mind was still buzzing. It was incredibly frustrating that Teach hadn't joined them, as he had several questions that were borderline flattery for her. _She was incredible today. Every order was decisive and effective._ It was hard to believe that she wasn't much older than him. _Twenty-one years ago Jeralt the Bladebraker abandoned the monastery and somehow raised one of the most impressive tactical minds I've ever met. No wonder Rhea was eager to snap them both up._

The library was blissfully dark and quiet, save some light coming from the second level. _Lindhart's going to burn the whole monastery down if he keeps leaving candles out and falling asleep._ _Time to teach him a lesson._ As quietly as he could, he tip-toed through the library and up the stairs. As he neared the source of light, however, he realized the hair color was wrong. Too blue. And the owner wasn't hunched over sleeping, but instead taking vigorous notes, buried in stacks of books. _She's going to spill her ink_.

A few quick, silent steps and he grabbed the bottle of ink dangerously close to her quill hand. She sat up instantly. "Teach," he said softly. She gave her a wild stare that softened when he recognized the intruder.

"Claude," she said and swallowed. "Isn't it near curfew?" The quill was still poised in her hand, but not as if she was trying to dismiss him. He knew that posture from Seteth. Instead, it was an excuse to keep her hand over the contents of her notebook. _She'll slam it shut if I try and look at it now._

"Is it? It seems we've both lost track of the time," he said flippantly. "You missed dinner and a rather rousing rendition of 'The Merchant of Derdriu' that left Seteth shaking. From tears or laughter wasn't clear, but he was definitively shaken." A smile. A quip. A verbal slap on the wrist. Any of those would have been reactions he could have expected out of her if she hadn't looked so pale and broken. Amusement didn't even threaten the corner of her eyes, nor anger. Only sadness.

Battle was tough. She was a mercenary, so it would have been tempting to say she should have been used to it. But, over time, he realized that repeated exposure to death only made you more acutely aware of how permanent it was. "Have you eaten, Teach? I'm positive there are leftovers in the kitchen."

She turned and grabbed a book off of her stack. "I'm rather busy right now. I need to adjust my lesson plans." _That_ 's _a dismissal if I've ever heard it._ He'd have normally abided by her tone, but her hand quivered as she flipped the pages. He was tempted to touch it. _I suspect her fingers are ice-cold._ "I don't think the class would mind if you weren't ready for tomorrow. I'm sure we've all got plenty to talk about from today's fight that would satisfy our curiosity no problem. I certainly do, at least." He grinned at her even though she wasn't looking at him. He knew you could hear it when someone smiles when they talk. She might come back to him that way.

Instead, she hunched back over her notebook. _Very well. Time to peek._

Lysithea's name was scribbled at the top of the page. Below that, a list of spells. In barely intelligible handwriting, list of potential battle partners. His own, Ignatz's, and Raphael's had stars next to them. _Signifying effectiveness?_ He and Lysithea had done well together. She picked off ax-wielders while he kept other bowmen at bay. _She thinks about this stuff more than me._ "She did great today! A little scratch before I teamed up with her, but she was on top of her game, especially for her age."

"Age doesn't grant you special treatment," Byleth said in a tone that meant he was intruding. "Death doesn't discriminate on the battlefield." Her elbow covered some text he was desperately curious about.

He knew Lysithea would agree, but the last thing the girl needed was to hear that from her professor. "She drives herself harder than anyone. If anything, I'm probably the one who could use some pointers. What does my page say, Teach? What's my lesson plan look like?"

She slammed the book shut and looked at him again. She was angry. _No. She's trying to be angry._ She scowled at him in a way that didn't reach her eyes. They were still pools of despair. "I need to finish Lysithea's lesson plan. Go to bed, Claude. You've had too much to drink."

The words were a chastening, but not in the way he believed she meant it. She didn't want his help. She didn't think she could confide in him and that stung him. He wiped a hand over his mouth and said, "Teach, she's not just alive, but she was barely winded. Everyone came out okay. You're doing a fantastic job and you deserve a break."

She buried her face in her hand. "Leave," she growled. "Please, leave." Her voice quivered.

He knelt, resting arm on the desk. He looked up at her where her eyes would be if she would just part her fingers. "What am I missing, Teach? Please, tell me. I have to be missing something for you to act like this. Right now, it's like we saw two completely different battles." _We're children, I know. But she's barely more than that._

Her fingers parted, ever so slightly. She wasn't looking at him, though. She looked to the left of him.

"Teach, I'm sorry," he croaked. "I know I've been prying about your past and about the Sword of the Creator. This isn't like that. I want to help."

"I'm sorry," she whispered to herself. Or perhaps to someone else, but it wasn't for him. "I can't go on like this."

She leaned back in her chair and removed her hand. Her expression was that of a woman haunted, dreading spreading the curse "We did," she said. "Two different battles. Lysithea died."

His insides went cold. The rational part of his mind said _the stress is getting to her._ It would be perfectly reasonable. The irrational part of his mind said to not doubt her. _She would never say something so terrible without cause, even in madness._

That kind of blind faith truly was madness to Claude. "I don't remember that happening," he said evenly. He focused on keeping the weight even on his feet -- he wouldn't stand, he wouldn't stumble, he wouldn't do anything to show himself shaken.

"You wouldn't," she said. "Because for you, I gave the right orders. Because I told you to stay close to Lysithea instead of going with Ignatz. I didn't the first time. It was a mistake."

His heart was pounding in his chest. There was an implication in what she was saying, something beyond that either spelled tragedy or mystery. Even the promise of mystery threatened to topple him.

"She died in my arms," she said. "But I tried again. I started over, and I knew how to fix it so the longbow bolt could never find it's mark." Sorrow still painted her face, but she watched him gently. "You protected her."

He took a deep breath, acutely aware of how thin the razor was he stood on. "That's a lot to take in," he said.

She nodded and opened the book. She found Lysithea's page. "Read it."

He stood. He soon realized the notes weren't just about today's battle. Different enemies in different terrains were noted. And, at the bottom of the page, it said: "If only I'd lived... just a little longer." Three tally marks were next to it. He ran his finger over the marks. "You're saying... she's died three times?"

"Yes," she said. "She has great potential, but she must grow, and quickly." She gestured to the book. He flipped through the pages. Most had some notes without the quotes, which gave him some relief. It tore at him to see Leonie and Lorenz did, in a way where he refused to read them. Then, Sylvain did as well. His chest felt tight.

"Claude" was written in precise handwriting at the top of the page. "Lance" was written and underlined multiple times. "Develop ax and flying - wyvern" underneath that. Ignatz, Hilda, and Lorenz were noted as suitable partners. The quote on the bottom of the page seized his heart. "I wanted to show you my hometown... show you the world beyond Fodlan."

His reflex was to deflect. To deny, if necessary. And, worse comes to worst, seduce. But when he looked at her, he felt guilty. The mere suggestion that he wasn't born here meant nothing to her because she was looking at a dead boy. _Did I die in her arms, too?_ The shadows cast on her face nearly hid the fact that her eyes were watering. She blinked.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. "I can't imagine... I can't..." He clenched a fist. "I believe you. That's first. You don't even owe me 'how' or 'why', I just do." He nodded, trying to pick up the fragmented pieces of his mind. "But what are the limits? Does it always work? What does it cost you?" _Besides your happiness, of course._ But that would be too cruel to say.

One of her hands slipped into her lap and started brushing the lace on her legs. She looked at it. "It's draining. Exhausting. I seem to be able to do it more often now that I'm stronger. But only in battle, where the stakes or life or death." She picked at a snag on her lace. "I haven't always been able to do this. Only after I met you three."

_Three._ "The battle in Remire." He racked his brain for the memories. "When would it have... you saved Edelgard."

"I nearly died for Edelgard," she corrected. "The blade would have bitten into my back in mere moments."

It curdled his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but there were no words. Nothing to explain just how profoundly he wished he could take the pain from his professor and make it his. _We're practically the same age, after all. Why couldn't it be mine?_

His father said that wanting the world would end Claude, and it was almost funny how right he was, in ways he'd have never imagined possible.

He grabbed the book and studied his own page again. "Wyverns, huh?" _About time I stopped avoiding them. See, Baba? Just waiting for the right incentive._ "It'd be quite a sight to see an archer on a wyvern."

She managed to peek up at him. "It's strange, I know. But you have a sharp eye and keen reflexes. Find you the right beast and you two would be unassailable."

"Then that's what I'll be," Claude said, voice becoming firm. "We all will. And I'll help you develop the training strategies, as well."

She straightened. "Claude -- "

"This is too much," he said firmly. "Even reading your notes was painful. But you keep having to live it." He sat on the desk and grabbed a book off of one of the stacks. "Besides I've been reading dusty tomes since you've been wielding a sword, I'd wager. Two heads are better than one."

She gripped her thighs. "I suppose you are right." Her eyes darted to the side again. "For the sake of the Deer."

Claude's grip tightened on the book. "Not just the Deer. Teach..." His voice softened, just enough to have her focus turn back to him. It took all of his willpower not to put a hand on her cheek. "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to have to pretend like everything's fine. You've already done so much for us, so let me do this. At least, here... between us, it doesn't have to be okay."

Byleth watched him for a moment, in a way that made his fingertips tingle. She nodded and then leaned forward, resting her head on the table. She closed her eyes, and her hair fell on her face. He couldn't help it; he brushed her hair back. He thought he heard her sigh.


	2. Keep Her Smiling

Heights had never been a problem for Claude until those heights began moving with minimal amounts of his consent. Wyverns were more willful than horses and pegasi, which made them difficult for the enemy to foresee their movements. But, that was only useful when the rider could predict such unpredictability. It led to several busted tailbones, sprained wrists, and snide remarks from Lorenz. It didn't matter, though, because next time they were on the battlefield Claude was able to cross it in a matter of moments. That meant any sudden change in tactic, any quick order that Byleth barked at him was acted upon instantaneously. _Or, if she's in trouble, I can go to her. There's no turning time back if she's the one taken unaware._

That evening, he went to her quarters. She poured herself a glass of whiskey and set it on the notebook. "'Where's my weapon? Damn it! Can't see... anything.'" She took a drink.

"Felix," he said. She nodded and poured him a glass.

Claude nodded and took the glass. "He's a new recruit; he just needs to learn where to integrate himself. Perhaps partnering with Marianne?"

She nodded again and drank. He did as well; it burned. Clear spirits had been more of his preference, but he understood why brown had appeal. _Punishment. Sudden punishment, then it numbs the edges._ They spent two more glasses discussing the battle before he left. She seemed to be lighter when he did -- at least, the creases on her forehead had melted away by then.

It became their ritual after battles -- the location changed, but the topics remained the same. Though no one else fell, there were enough close calls that Byleth wouldn't risk it and made them try it again. Then a battle came when, at the end of it, Byleth smiled at him. Not the thanks of a fellow comrade, but a bright smile. A smile that you couldn't control because you were shining on the inside and it just had to come out. He couldn't control his own in response. When he was adjusting his wyvern's saddle before flying back, she murmured, "Skip tonight?" Because there was nothing to discuss, he knew.

His response was, "Absolutely not." They were going to celebrate. They would get back to the monastery, and he would pull out a bottle of gin that tasted like pine and blood oranges -- the closest flavors he'd had to home in awhile. They'd drink and they'd talk about anything else besides mortality, and he'd say whatever it took to keep her smiling.

He thought he'd never see that smile again after Jeralt died. When he found her, she was soaked the bone, cradling a body growing colder by the second, and her tears joined the rain. She seemingly didn't feel his hand on her shoulder or hear the words that he said. Hilda and Marianne escorted her to Manuela -- shock would set in soon, and no one knew what to do when the Ashen Demon turned to ash. Leonie insisted on helping carry Jeralt's body, but her own sobs shook her so much she could barely stand. Somehow, Sylvain convinced her to let him walk with her. Lorenz, Felix, Raphael carried Jeralt's body. Claude and Ignatz searched the ground for any evidence, though it was a futile effort. Anything that hadn't already disappeared was being washed away.

He wasn't allowed to see Byleth after that. No one was, besides Manuela, Seteth, and a few select nuns. _Yes, she needs time, but you don't understand that it was already denied to her._ Something went wrong. Her powers failed her, or something even greater thwarted them. "Kronya" was the name Byleth had given to Seteth, and he, to the rest of the students. "If you have any information on either Monica or Kronya, report it to myself or Alois immediately. He has been appointed captain of the guard."

Hilda was nervous to talk to Seteth, but Claude said, "You have information about the Monica you knew. The one that appeared here was just taking on her appearance. Any information you have merely helps paint a picture on why she was targeted, that's all. Besides, you weren't the one buddying up to her after she returned."

Hilda bit her lip. "Right. Edelgard. I'm sure Seteth is going to speak with her as well."

These men, one pious, one light-hearted, were not the types Claude wanted to trust this investigation with. He was desperate to search Edelgard's and Monica's rooms, but Knights had been posted outside of their rooms. He'd have to wait, for a shift change, for someone to use the bathroom, for any opening to get inside. But, in the meantime, he had a different room he needed to infiltrate.

* * *

A scuffle in the merchant's quarter was keeping Seteth from picking up Byleth's dinner tray, so Claude stepped in to handle the duty for him that evening. _They'll find the purse once somebody actually looks at the awning of the Blacksmith shop_. _Or I can retrieve and return it later, but a lot of fuss would be avoided if more people actually looked up._

Raphael was on kitchen duty that evening, so the tray was overflowing with food. _Byleth couldn't possibly eat it all, but perhaps knowing the gesture was from Raphael will encourage her to take a bite or two._ Raphael also seemed to be overflowing with the urge to hug Byleth and it spilled over to Claude. "Tell her she'll blow away if she doesn't keep her strength up," he said, nearly crushing Claude.

"Okay, I will!" Claude choked out. "I'll send her your best." Only then did Raphael release him.

When Claude knocked on her door it swung open ever so slightly. He let himself in and pushed the door closed with his foot. He saw her asleep on her bed. Perhaps collapsed would be more accurate, as her pillows were on the floor, her blanket tangled between her legs, and her hair a matted mess. She was still wearing her sleeping gown. His heart aching, he put the tray on her desk and turned back to her. He wanted to talk to her. He thought about waking her, but one of her hands was digging into her bedsheet and clinging for dear life. Instead, he reached for her blanket and tried to unwind it.

"Begone, boy!" a high voice snapped. He jumped and looked to the door. Closed. His heart hammering, he looked back to the immobile Byleth. "Don't play dumb! Leave!"

He finally saw her -- a girl more green hair than body floated in the corner of the room staring daggers at her. The rich blue and gold of her regalia were nearly blinding, but he knew innately looking away would only make her more wrathful. "Who are you?" he nearly shouted, trying to control the alarm in his voice. Claude didn't like to leap to fear when faced with a stranger, but the chill running through his body was hard to ignore. And, somehow, he knew that _not_ fearing her would make her angrier.

Her chest heaving, she spat, "Me? Bah! I'm the one who has been protecting her! Protecting _you_ and all of you children playing at war like it's some sort of game."

_She's the one in the corner of Byleth's eye._ "You turn back time."

She nodded slowly. "One would hope you'd at least figure that out based on your alleged intelligence."

He was too focused on not shaking to be offended. "Is that also why her heart doesn't beat?"

Her pale face was reddening, even to the tips of her pointy ears. "Organs?! You're worried about organs when you should be focused on her spirit?! Her soul, and every piece of it you infants chip away at when you fail!"

"We've been doing better!" he argued. "Only one of us has fallen since I've found out."

Her breaths became more labored. Her bare feet nearly skimmed the ground. "I suppose. But there's been too many close calls." She crossed her arms. "She is vulnerable right now. On the precipice of doing something reckless and foolish. Watch yourself."

"I won't let her put herself in danger," he vowed. "I'm here to help her."

She pointed at him, arm quivering. "You... can't fall again. She can't see you fall one more time." Her feet touched the ground. She vanished.

Byleth began to stir. He took a deep breath and gave her some space as she pushed herself upright. "Sorry," he said quickly, softly. "Just came to drop off your dinner. Raphael assembled it for you especially."

She pushed her hair off of her face, revealing tear-streaked, red cheeks and dark-circled eyes. She looked at the tray, then looked to him. She scooted over wordlessly. He sat. "Kind," she squeaked. "Both of you." Sweat made her bangs cling to her face. She smelled like stale whiskey.

It was a struggle not to wrap her in a hug and speak soft words to her in a language she wouldn't understand. To run his hands over her hair and swear vows to her he would only reveal when her heart was whole. Claude was no fool; he loved her. His father would have called him one, though, for casting his affections at someone who couldn't return them. Who it would be wrong to burden them with.

"We're all doing what we think may help. Whatever it takes, we'll do it." Warmth was returning to his body, but the improbable being still made him unsettled. It only made him want to cling to Byleth more. "I already know you did everything you could."

She looked at him as if weighing exactly how much he believed his own words. As if his belief would dictate if she believed it. In this, he was unquestionable, and somehow his expression helped her sit up a bit straighter. Then, she looked down for a moment and took his hand. Her touch was feather-light; it sent goosebumps up his arm. Then she looked up at him, through her lashes, a glimpse to his eyes, then to his lips.

He'd seen that expression before, from time to time at a tavern or two. Sometimes, the expressions had pointed at a drink, trying to escape their own thoughts. Sometimes they had been pointed at him, looking to lose themselves entirely. _Oh no,_ he thought as he felt himself burn _._ But, a selfish bit of him said, _not like this._

"Who is the green girl, Teach?" he managed, his breath hitching.

Her eyes darted back up. She leaned back a bit to study him again for a moment before her eyes went wide. He pointed. "She was right there. Floating."

A light flickered ever so briefly in her eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "Sothis appeared to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I love writing Sothis, I couldn't not give this a try!
> 
> Also, I'm going through a Blue Lions run-through, and I'm so TORN about who I want to see at the Goddess Tower! It's Dedue vs. Dimitri for my affections (even though I'll always feel a pain of betrayal for it not being Claude again), make your arguments for who I should LOVE!


	3. She Is Indeed

Asking for Jeralt's diary felt wrong, but they needed information. He got little, only that being mistrustful of Rhea was well-founded, and that Jeralt loved his wife and daughter to death. Love had turned him into quite the sap, but it gave him an edge that allowed him to question orders. To stay vigilant of the forces around him.

Claude's guard had always been up, but his faith in the library's resources had dwindled even more now. He was positive any books that could have information about Kronya had long disappeared if Tomas had let any slip in. The name "Sothis" also proved to be fruitless, which made him even more suspicious -- if she was some sort of divine being associated with the Church, there was no way it'd be permitted to hint at how limited she was. Sleepy, forgetful, with a limited ability to roll back time, but the strongest part of her seemed to be her care for Byleth. _She used so much strength just to try and protect Byleth's heart._ The omnipotent Goddess who that the Church portrayed seemed nothing in comparison to Sothis, because Sothis fought with everything she had.

In that spirit, he contemplated trying to get some books from home. Not Derdriu, but _home._ However, Almyrans were generally regarded with so much suspicion that he doubted they'd make it through border control. At worst, they'd be traced to him and he'd become a suspect in Jeralt's murder. _Perhaps it's not literally what Sothis meant, but even having that kind of suspicion cast in my direction would cause me to fall in Byleth's eyes._

His heart fell heavy when Byleth returned, eyes and hair pale green. "She doesn't speak to me anymore," Byleth explained. She wasn't _gone_ , but her mind was quiet and that was a loss in itself. Byleth had told him about her sharpness only protecting a soft heart. And Sothis was the reason he was able to stay strong in front of his Deer when she disappeared into an inescapable void. _Protect her, Sothis_ wasn't a prayer, not a plea for help, but a reminder of her own duty because he was powerless to perform his. Not without risking her fawns.

Where books failed him, he spent time talking with the other students. He mostly focused on prying out information about Kronya and eventually, Solon, but he always came back to talking about Byleth. About her courage, her strength, and her resolve to help her students. One by one, those students came to Byleth and asked to join her class. Regardless of her hair color, they seemed to find hope and fortitude in her instruction, and he couldn't blame them. Because, as much as they stole her time, he and she still had their post-battle rituals. More often than not they involved clear spirits.

One of those evenings, Byleth had a couple of extra glasses that left her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed. "Hanneman is furious with me," she chuckled. "I advise you not to let it slip during the seminar tomorrow."

"Let what slip?" Claude asked, nursing his own glass. His muscles were sore, and he was tempted to drink more to ease the pain, but somehow Byleth letting herself relax so much made him tense. _I can't let myself slip. The best thing I can be to her is a trusted confidant. No ulterior motives present._

She pointed a finger at him. "That _you_ were the one who convinced Annette to leave his class. With her, Felix, Sylvain, and Lysithea, I have an impeccable troop of mages, and I'm not even the primary instructor of Reason." She snorted. "I could barely cast a spell before I came to the monastery."

"Ah, I appreciate the advice. I like to stay on the good side of mages." He couldn't help but poke a little. "I'd have been a bit more cautious of you if I'd have known you'd had an affinity for magic."

She took a sip. "In my defense, I didn't know I would myself."

He laughed. "Fair enough! You do always happen to be the exception. Why wouldn't everyone who could join the Deer to at least see what exceptional things happen next?"

She smiled, more to herself than him. "The classroom is chaos anymore... but it's nice." Her eyes flicked up to him and her smile held. "I never thought I'd enjoy the chaos."

He leaned back and winked to distract the way his heart was thumping. "Come on, a mercenary corps couldn't have been that tranquil! And, we can all bathe on a regular basis, so the sensory assault is only aural."

She laughed. It was the sweetest sound he would hear for a long time.

Seeing The Immaculate One fly over the monastery was breathtaking. To see it fall, heart-stopping. But to see Byleth plunge over the cliff drove him to his knees. They couldn't find either of them after the battle and efforts to scour the grounds proved dangerous -- Edelgard had plenty of time to lay traps, after all.

_Edelgard._ She had been the start of it all, had she not? What madness would convince her, after all of this, that _war_ was the answer to these problems was one he couldn't comprehend. And what madness threatened to take Dimitri, he feared.

He felt it was his turn to grieve. To see the place that had become his home, with the people he had begun to consider family was devastating. And his heart was nowhere to be found.

Found. She would be found. _Sothis wouldn't fail her. She saved her time and time again. This time won't be different._

In the meantime, he would take care of her class. They had families and lands to defend. Preparations had to be made to withstand the onslaught of war. _Byleth did everything she could to protect her students, and she'll come back to see that they are all still safe._ He would not let her return only to be wrecked, to spend fretful nights by candlelight ever again.

It was up to him, now. _Sothis, protect her. I must go on like this._

* * *

Raphael banged on the door to Claude's chambers with his foot. The door was open and it technically wasn't his duty to bring Claude his meals, but his old friend and new liege lord had been worrying him some as of late.

_He needs to eat. How can he lead armies if he's not at full strength?_

"Come in," Raphael heard called from beyond the door.

"Dinner time!" he boomed as he entered. The savory smell of roasted quail and vegetables competed with the harshness of whiskey that was already present in the room. Raphael bit his lip.

Most of the maps on Claude's desk had been pushed aside, and instead, a book lay in the middle of it with ink, quill, and a bottle of whiskey nearby. A glass was in his hand.

"Raphael, I wasn't expecting you," he said, sitting up a little straighter. The words came out a little slower than his usual cadence. An attempt of a beard was growing on his chin. Raphael had never been one for facial hair -- muscles had always been his mark of being a man. _Maybe it's a war leader's thing. Captain Jeralt had a beard and he was the stuff of legend._ He stood and pulled a chair from the corner of the room. "Sit with me for a while? The company's been dreadfully dull, as you can see." He gestured to the maps and quickly rolled them up with one hand, other still holding his glass. His back was turned in a way that obscured the book, but he swore he could see "Byleth" written on the top of the page in handwriting as perfect as Maya's before it was slammed shut and pushed aside.

"What's that?" Raphael asked. "Something about the Professor?"

Claude flinched almost imperceptibly. "Nothing in particular. Just lost in an old memory." He turned around flashed a smile at Raphael. "Woah! That's a lot of food. You're staying to help me with that, right?"

Raphael's stomach churned as he set the tray on the desk and took a seat. "I really miss the Professor," he said. "I'd always hoped that Maya would have got to meet her. Don't get me wrong, she's met so many smart and strong women since you took us in your service, but the Professor's something else." He watched Claude carefully.

He had never been good at reading people. But he had taken to heart Marianne's lesson about divining an animal's feelings and tried to apply it here. Because, if there's one thing that Raphael could tell, it was that Claude was wounded and he'd never given himself time to recover.

Claude's gaze grew a bit distant. "She is indeed." He took another sip from his glass.

_Is._ He could practically hear his sister pointing out the tense. _Is. He indeed believes she's still alive._ It's what all of the Deer were hoping for, Raphael knew, and it's what he believed as well, but Claude had never been clear on the subject. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there were a lot of things Claude hadn't been clear about when they first became friends.

"So, what were you thinking about?" Raphael asked. "The time we booby-trapped her desk draws so that the only one that would open would spray her with ink?"

Claude snorted. It wasn't the typical easy laugh that Raphael was used to, it was one of genuine surprise. "I forgot about that."

"Forgot about it?" Raphael asked incredulously. "It was your idea! And nobody would confess to who did it, so stable duty was a whole lot more fun when it was everyone doing it."

Claude smiled. His eyes grew distant. "Do you ever wish you could turn back time? Go back to those days?" He pulled another glass out of his desk and poured a drink. He offered it to Raphael.

He took it. He had never been particularly adept at holding his drink, but perhaps it was because he was already an open book. He said what he thought, and that's a thing he knew Claude valued in him already because Claude told him that. "Of course I miss the Academy, but turning time back? You can't think like that, because then you can't go forward. Professor said so herself that you have to let go of regret on the battlefield because it'll get you killed if you're not focused on the task at hand." The whiskey burned as he sipped it. Half of Claude's bottle was already missing and he really wished Claude would eat something. _The food won't hurt him like this stuff does._

Claude propped an elbow on his desk and rested his head on that hand. "I know, but... sometimes, it's hard." He sighed. "I used to help Teach with her lesson plans. Even now, it feels wrong sitting at my desk and plotting without her here." There was a pain in his voice that was unmistakable.

_Well, Maya would say it is, and I'd think the same thing. But nobles always got these ideas about duty and such that makes it complicated._ He was never good at this stuff. Ignatz, Lorenz, even Hilda could speak to matters like this better than him. All he could do was say what comes to mind. "It's okay to miss her. But I think it would make her really sad if she knew that you were so sad over her."

Claude's expression softened. He watched Raphael for a moment, so Raphael nodded as if he had never been more assured of anything in his life. The Professor would have been sad if any of her students had been distraught over her for so long, but it would have been worse if she knew it was Claude. That he knew for a fact.

Claude finally nodded. "You're absolutely right. We can't have a sad Professor, now, can we? Gotta get myself pulled together before the millennium festival."

_What festival?_ Raphael thought for a moment before he remembered the promise that their class had made. _All of us, together again. The Professor has to be back by then._ Raphael raised his glass. "That's the spirit! I'm sure she's been worried sick about all of us, so we need to show her just how strong we all are!"

Claude clinked his glass with Raphael's. "I'll drink to that." They both did and when Raphael set his glass down, he shoved the tray closer to Claude.

"Eat up! Real muscle requires meat!"

Claude chuckled and grabbed a fork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY the Raphael POV was a last minute addition, and I've never written his POV before, so feedback is greatly appreciated!


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